


Aftermaths

by Euterpein



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by..., M/M, Paranormal Investigators, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25700770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: After the events ofDisappearance at Danvers, Hux deals with the fallout.This fic was made as a part of an art trade with StarKillerBae and is a continuation of her fic! It may not make much sense if you haven't read Disappearance at Danvers.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Aftermaths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarKillerBae (Luciferous)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luciferous/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Disappearance at Danvers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20952986) by [eighth_chiharu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eighth_chiharu/pseuds/eighth_chiharu), [StarKillerBae (Luciferous)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luciferous/pseuds/StarKillerBae). 



**Time: 9:54PM**

**Date: 12/03/09**

**Manchester, Connecticut**

**Hux-Ren Residence**

Kylo was already asleep.

Hux watched him from the chair in the corner of their bedroom, watched the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept, a habit he had taken on in the past month since Kylo had been home. He couldn’t help himself. So long of being without his husband, thinking that he had died in that god-forsaken hell hole, his body left to rot where the sun would never reach it. So long of thinking he would never see him again. Losing sight of him for even a moment made the bile rise into his throat.

So, he watched. There was a notepad balanced on his lap, pen poised as if ready to start writing at any moment, but it was nothing more than an excuse, a prop. 

Hux hadn’t written a word in months.

On the bed, Kylo stirred slightly. Hux stiffened in his seat, watching for the tell-tale signs he had grown used to spotting: the clenching and unclenching of his husband’s hands, the slight sheen of cold sweat, the goosebumps on his arms. Sometimes a wordless cry would pass his lips, a reaction to some unknown threat in his nightmare. Even worse was when the cries _weren’t_ wordless.

Kylo wouldn’t tell Hux much of what had happened in the four years he had been trapped in Snoke’s clutches, in the bowels of Danvers Hospital. He claimed he couldn’t remember much of it, which Hux thought was at least partially true. After almost a month of rest and recovery, he still had lapses, moments where he wasn’t sure when or where or even _who_ he was. It was easy enough to believe that he couldn’t remember all of what had happened to him under Snoke’s “care.” Hux knew he hadn’t forgotten everything, though. He could see it in Kylo’s face in all the moments he thought he wasn’t being watched. Could see the pain that flashed in his eyes, the fear that would spark like wildfire at the slightest unexpected noise, the desperation with which Kylo would cling to him at night. 

He could also hear the cries that would escape Kylo in his sleep, the words that seemed ripped from his throat in the throes of whatever nightmare was holding him hostage: _no,_ he would scream, would whimper; _please, god, no_. 

_Mercy._

Hux hadn’t been sleeping much.

He watched instead. He was witness to every cry and moan and twitch, every little motion or sign that would plunge the knife further into his own heart, drive deep the knowledge that if he had only been a little more insistent, more thorough, if he had only _believed_... 

Kylo gave a whimper from the bed, a heart-rending sound coming from someone so strong, brought so low. Hux tucked his untouched notepad onto the little table beside him and rose to his feet, approaching his husband quietly so as not to startle him. Kylo was shaking subtly, expression drawn in something like pain. He whimpered again, his fingers clenching in the sheets, as though flinching away from some unseen horror. 

Hux perched himself gently beside his husband on the bed. Slowly, softly, he lifted a hand to Kylo’s cheek, his forehead. He stroked gentle fingers across the scar that marred his face, still pink and shiny, though it had improved significantly over the past weeks.

The scar had been the thing that had most gotten to Kylo’s mother, he remembered, at least at first. She and Han had touched down in Danvers not twelve hours after they’d been informed about Kylo’s reappearance, had burst into his hospital room with all the drama that only Leia Organa-Solo could generate. She had flung herself at Kylo and had wept over him, had taken his face between her hands. She had seemed to fixate on the scar. Perhaps because it was just the most obvious physical manifestation of her son’s trauma, or because her own psychic sensitivity had been so drowned out by her own emotions that she couldn’t feel the living wound in the fabric of reality that her son’s mind had been in those first few days. Either way, it had seemed to disturb her more than the four years Kylo had been missing.

Perhaps it was just less disturbing than considering what other tortures had been visited on her son in his absence.

At least she had spoken to Hux, which was more than he had been expecting. He hadn’t contacted Kylo’s parents since the book had come out, had found himself unable to face them in his despair. They were too much a reminder of what he had lost. He had also known that Leia disapproved of his publishing the book, had heard as much at the funeral, and he hadn’t been sure his presence would be welcomed even though Kylo’s reappearance had vindicated him.

There had been a few solid moments where Leia had stared at him with her sharp and deeply intimidating gaze, piercing into him, where he hadn’t known whether she was about to punch him or hug him. Not that it would have mattered, really; after all that Hux had faced that day, after walking through a hell of _literal_ ghosts and demons and nightmares, one more punch probably wouldn’t have made much of a difference. He needn’t have worried. Leia had stalked towards him and wrapped him up in a bone-crushingly tight embrace. She had whispered, “Thank you. For bringing him home,” and Hux had known he’d been forgiven.

By her, at least, and by the rest of them. By himself, not so much. He just couldn’t shake that feeling of guilt, the sense that all of this had been his fault. That the ghost haunting not only his husband’s dreams but his every waking moment was not Snoke but his own inadequacy, his own cowardice. It was a thought that lurked in his every dark corner, in every shadow and closet he possessed. It was a fear that lurked the very chambers of his heart.

Soft fingers curled around his own and he was startled from his thoughts, freezing in place. Kylo’s eyes gazed up at him, soft with sleep, understanding in his expression. “You were watching me again.”

“I was,” Hux murmured, resuming his soft stroking as if in apology. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

Kylo shrugged as best he could, tangled up in the sheets as he was. “Wasn’t sleeping well anyway.”

“I know.” Hux sighed, resisted the urge to curl his free hand into a fist. “Nightmare?”

Kylo lowered his eyes, avoiding answering him but not trying to deny it either. “You’re shaking.”

Hux looked down at himself. The hand that was still stroking Kylo’s skin softly was wracked with minute tremors he hadn’t even been aware of, tiny manifestations of his thoughts. “Oh,” was all he could think to say. 

Kylo looked up at him softly with that intense stare he’d inherited from his mother, then turned to shuffle over on the bed. He held up the duvet and the sheets beneath, giving Hux a pointed look. “Get in.” 

“I’m not tired.”

“Bullshit. You’re exhausted. Now get in before I make you.”

Hux huffed, amused. He thought about resisting, about insisting that he wasn’t tired, but he knew that would be a lie Kylo would see right through. Besides, his husband had that particular steely glint in his eye that told him he was ready to dig in his heels and fight if he had to. Hux wasn’t sure he was ready to try and fight him on it just then. “Fine. Fine, you brute, you win.”

Kylo smiled as Hux kicked off his house shoes and shuffled into the bed next to him, not even arguing as Hux pushed at his shoulders until he could press himself to Kylo’s back. 

“Just because you’ve gotten me in the bed doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep, you know,” Hux murmured against the back of Kylo’s neck.

“I know,” Kylo answered, patting the back of one of Hux’s hands idly, “I know.”

As he drifted off to sleep, pulled under by the inexorable weight of his own exhaustion and Kylo’s even breathing, Hux thought that everything he’d been through, all the pain and the trauma and the sleepless nights, were all worth having his husband in his arms again. He settled himself even more snugly against the warm expanse of Kylo’s broad back, and finally let himself slip under. 


End file.
